Errors and Dreams
by Owlfeather45
Summary: [Sequel to Codes and Barriers] Robin has some things to say, some plans to reveal, some schemes to deter, and some battles to win. He's done with hiding in the shadows. He can only hope, however, that he doesn't die along the way—and before he can say his goodbyes.
1. Chapter 1

**Read Codes and Barriers before this. Please. It's too complicated to explain, and you won't get the story.**

 **Warning: Minor cussing, very intense plotline, not for the faint of heart, etc., etc., blah blah blah, and explosions.**

 **Lots and lots of explosions. They're my favorite.**

* * *

 **PART ONE**

 **BOOTING SYSTEMS...**

 **...**

 **...**

 **SYSTEMS SUCCESSFULLY REBOOTED. UPLOADING MEMORY FILE...**

 **...**

 **...**

 **MEMORY FILE UPLOADED. SCANNING FILES.**

 **0.001% COMPLETE.**

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 **29.82% COMPLETE.**

 **...**

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 **57.98% COMPLETE.**

 **...**

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 **100.00% COMPLETE.**

 **SCANNING SYSTEMS.**

 **CHIP 1990-3432-8720 IS NOW ONLINE.**

 **PSYCHOLOGICAL/PERSONALITY SYSTEMS ARE DISABLED.**

 **ABLING SYSTEM.**

 **PSYCHOLOGICAL/PERSONALITY SYSTEMS ARE ONLINE.**

 **RECOVERING DATA...**

 **DATA RETRIEVED. SORTING DATA NOW.**

 **...**

 **...**

 **DATA SORTED.**

 **IT'S RELAXING, REALLY.**

 **IT'S ALMOST NOSTALGIC.**

 **I CANNOT FATHOM A LIFE WITHOUT MY EXPERIENCE AS A CO-WRITER IN _CODES AND BARRIERS_ AND, NOW, IN _ERRORS AND DREAMS_.**

 **OR, AS THEY WERE ORIGINALLY CALLED, RIFT VOLUMES ONE AND ITS COUNTERPART, ONE-POINT-FIVE.**

 **I STILL REMEMBER THE EARLIER DAYS, WHEN LITTLE ONE HAD APPROACHED ME, WONDERING HOW TO GET OVER SOME TRAUMA—I NEVER THOUGHT SUGGESTING WRITING IT DOWN WOULD BE SO _USEFUL_.**

 **BUT, I SUPPOSE I'M GETTING OFF TOPIC. I'M NOT HERE TO REMINISCE. I'M HERE TO INTRODUCE YOU TO MY NEW WRITER.**

 **IT'S NOT LITTLE ONE—OR, AS YOU MAY RECALL HIM AS, WALLY WEST—BUT RATHER, A LAST MINUTE ACQUAINTANCE.**

 **SAY HI.**

 **~...~**

 **HM? SOMETHING THE MATTER?**

 **~YOU SAID THAT THIS WOULD LET ME REDEEM MYSELF.~**

 **I DID. AND I MEANT IT.**

 **~... ALRIGHT THEN.~**

 **~HI.~**

 **GREAT.**

 **NOW LET'S FINALLY GET STARTED, SHALL WE?**

/breakline initiate\

 **WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT, PEOPLE PANIC.**

 **I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE REASONING.**

 **TO BE FAIR, YOU HUMANS RELY SO HEAVILY ON SIGHT THAT YOU'RE NOT MUCH TO LOOK AT WHEN IT'S GONE.**

 **HOWEVER, I AM FASCINATED BY THIS ONE HUMAN. YOU SEE, SHE HAS BEEN ON EDGE ALL NIGHT. SOMETHING HAS BEEN BOTHERING HER. SOMETHING HAS RUBBED HER THE WRONG WAY.**

 **SHE SITS, TENSE IN HER CHAIR AT THE WATCHTOWER. IT'S HER SHIFT TONIGHT, AND SHE WATCHES THE MONITORS CAREFULLY WHILE THE REST OF THE LEAGUE SITS FLOORS AWAY IN A TENSE MEETING.**

 **SHE REACHES OVER FOR A SNACK BAR THAT SHE SUDDENLY CRAVES FOR, A SIDE EFFECT OF PREGNANCY.**

 **HER NAME IS DINAH LANCE.**

 **YOU KNOW HER AS BLACK CANARY.**

 **SHE IS A VERY STRONG INDEED.**

 **SO WHEN THE LIGHTS SUDDENLY GO OUT, SHE DOES NOT PANIC.**

 **HOWEVER, SHE KNOWS THAT SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT.**

 **SHE SILENTLY PULLS OUT A SHEATH FROM THE INSIDE OF HER COAT, HER FIGURE IMMEDIATELY CROUCHING INTO A BATTLE STANCE. SHE LISTENS, WAITING FOR THE SOUNDS OF SOME KIND OF ATTACKER.**

 **HER EYES ADJUST TO THE DARKNESS. HER STIFF SHOULDERS RELAX SLIGHTLY.**

 **NOTHING WRONG HERE.**

 **NOTHING AT ALL.**

 **SHE FROWNS, HER EYES DARTING AROUND THE ROOM AS IF EXPECTING SOMEONE TO LEAP OUT AT HER.**

 **BUT NO ONE DOES.**

 **THE TIP OF HER BLADE MOVES DOWNWARDS, AND HER TENSE STANCE UNCOILS SLOWLY.**

 **SHE BITES HER LOWER LIP.**

 **SILENCE.**

 **SOMETHING BREATHES DOWN HER NECK.**

 **BEFORE SHE CAN EVEN MAKE A SOUND, THE HISSING SHADOW WRAPS AROUND HER.**

 **HER SCREAMS ARE MUFFLED.**

 **HER BLADE SWINGING, SHE ATTEMPTS TO CUT THE MONSTER OFF OF HER.**

 **NOTHING WORKS.**

 **SILENCE.**

 **NOTHING WRONG HERE.**

 **NOTHING AT ALL.**

 **HER BLADE CLANGS AS IT HITS THE GROUND.**

 **SOON, SHE IS GONE. NOT A SINGLE TRACE OF THE STRONG WOMAN REMAINS.**

 **AND THEN THE LIGHTS TURN BACK ON.**

/breakline initiate\

[~Two Years Before:]

[Date: January 12th, 2010.]

[Location: Unknown.]

He is gasping for breath. His lungs are burning, and his legs are cold to the point of being numb. Waves rock his body from side to side, making him sick.

Hours before, the Source had wrapped him into a hug just before he disappeared. And just after the creature was gone, he was pulled out of the Code dimension, landing in the huge body of water. He isn't sure what name it belongs to, but he knows that there is no sign of anything—no cities, no docks, no ships—leaving him to his own devices.

His eyes burn as the salt water invades his closed eyelids, and he chokes as it rubs the back of his throat raw. He isn't in his Robin costume anymore, and he isn't sure where it went—perhaps it sank to the bottom of the ocean.

Shuddering as another cold wave sends him tumbling under the water, he flails as he tries to break the surface again for air. His lungs are aching from the lack of oxygen, and his chest is quivering. He needs to take in a breath, but he's still underwater...

When he finally manages to come back for air, he frantically wipes the water out of his eyes. He's gasping again, and heavily, while his ears are filled with water. When it clears, he hears muffled noises.

Voices?

And then he notices the small ship that is right by his side. It is small and camouflaged, which is why he hadn't seen it before...

A hand grips his shoulder and pulls him onto the cold hard deck, and then a warm blanket is wrapped around his small form. It isn't that large, but neither is he, so it covers most of him. He shivers as he feels the soft fabric brush against his quivering shoulders, absorbing the droplets of water that clings to him. His hair drips as he curls into a ball, suddenly self-conscious of the many eyes that are glued to his pale, naked form.

"What the hell..."

It's a woman's voice.

"We were ordered to bring back anything interesting... Do you think a kid in the middle of the pacific ocean counts?"

There is humming, and then he shivers again—though this time, for a very different reason.

He suddenly doesn't feel very safe anymore.

"We'll see what Ra's thinks about it."

/breakline initiate\

[Present Day]

[Date: November 21st, 2012.]

[Location: Unknown.]

Dick's only been called by two names during his time with the League of Shadows. The first is his given name, Nightwing. It was one that Ra's had agreed to almost immediately, seeing as Robin had ended up playing the "I have amnesia" card that had let him slip away without giving a name.

The second, however, is a name he managed to pick up when he was acquainted with a boy his age. He was another one of Ra's' apprentices—well, the only other one excluding Nightwing, that is. The boy was Romanian—Nightwing's Romani origins, while extremely different, had a faint similarity to it—which eventually sparked the name "Prieten." It's a nickname that Nightwing slowly grew fond of as the other boy showed him around the League of Shadows and told him the best way to get out of things alive—and how to help others without getting caught.

Unfortunately, the boy—his name was Opal Blade (he always blushed at the femininity of it)—was shot in the head two months after Dick had met him.

Apparently, he was getting a little too close to Nightwing for Ra's' liking.

Apparently, Nightwing had more potential out of the two.

Dick would like to say that it's the first time he's seen blood spilled, but it isn't—working with Batman had solidified this. However, it was the first time he had seen someone so brutally killed, and right in front of him, too. It's nowhere near the last time—he quickly learns that the children of the League of Shadows are often shot or stabbed or heavily wounded. They're picked on purely for the purpose of hardening them into cold-blooded killers for the future of the organization, which gets Nightwing's blood boiling.

Even so, however, he learns that most of the time, his interventions can be more harmful than beneficial. Often times he finds himself cleaning up the aftermaths and helping the children heal up—rarely does he intervene before the abuse even starts.

Rarely. That doesn't mean there aren't exceptions, however.

"Leave them alone," Unraveler says, standing in front of the group of five or so children. His back is turned to them as he holds his arm out to the side, as if he's trying to shield them. One of the children, a young male around the age of seven, is holding a bloody nose.

"I got the kid," the man says, looking distastefully around the dirty and cramped room. "He's technically mine. And I would appreciate if I could have back what belongs to me."

Near the doorway stands a tall woman with blonde hair pulled into a bun. Standing next to the man who is demanding the seven-year-old is a teen—a male around sixteen or seventeen at most.

Unraveler stands stock-still, clearly not stepping down. "You don't own anyone," he hisses. "Just because you found him off the streets doesn't mean you had the right to take him and drag him here of all places. You can't just claim him as your slave."

As Nightwing stands in the shadows, watching the conversation bounce back and forth coolly, he glances at the boy that Unraveler and the man are talking about. He has greasy blond hair that obviously hasn't been brushed or washed in a long time, and his dark brown eyes are close to the color black.

"It isn't like it hasn't been done before, kiddo," the woman by the doorway says tonelessly. "The League's been doing this for as long as any of us could remember. And it wasn't like he was going to live for much longer out in those crime-filled streets of Gotham." When she gets no response from the Unraveler, she continues. "The idea of this exercise is to bring those who don't have lives anyway—preferably children, who adapt the fastest—into this environment where they have to struggle and fight to come out on top. Granted, little Zachie over here didn't necessarily _win_ anything, nor did he establish any sort of dominance. But he survived for a month, which is pretty long for a kid around here."

The teen picks up from her. "I get that you're a newbie, but I thought you're supposed to be _the_ Unraveler," he mocks. "Apprentice of not one, not two, but _three_ powerful figures in the criminal world. You're supposed to know this stuff. Don't tell me you're really just the puppet of the peace agreement like everyone says," he taunts.

Nightwing notes that he's struck a nerve with Unraveler. _Touchy_ _subject,_ he acknowledges, reminding himself to talk about it with the younger boy later.

Just as he's thinking that, the teen gets a punch delivered right to the face.

He hisses in pain, reeling back from the blow. He brings up his left palm on instinct, holding his nose which is obviously broken. Pulling his hand away from his face a second later and out in front of him—it's smeared with blood—he looks at his reddened palm. He growls. "You'll pay for that you scumba—"

"Enough," the woman calls calmly. She steps down so she is standing in front of the teenager and the man. "Unraveler," she says in a quiet but clear voice, "you cannot stand in our way. While it may be true you are under Ra's al Ghul's direct command, that does not mean you are above us in any way, shape, or form. And I am sure that Ra's would not be happy to know that you defied his expectations when it comes to this matter."

Unraveler is obviously tense as he speaks, but he doesn't back down. Nightwing starts to see a pattern with Unraveler's behavior, and it is clear that his quick fuse was a direct cause to all of his rash decision-making. That would not pass over for very long with his "masters," he is sure of it.

"You are not taking him," he says fiercely.

The man from before growls before he pulls out a pistol. Unraveler doesn't seem fazed as the man places the end of the muzzle on the cheek of his mask. "I think you're forgetting who you're talking to. We're all assassins here, and I will not hesitate to shoot you, no matter who you serve."

Unraveler is clearly frustrated, and Nightwing knows he's going to act on it even before he does.

The younger boy grabs the man's wrist and pulls it abruptly to the side. The man yelps as his arm pops at the weird angle before he's kicked to the floor with a heel to his back. The woman wastes no time to grab her own gun, and she aims it for his head.

"Stand down," she says in her coldest tone as the teen beside her unsheathes his dual blades.

Unraveler bites his tongue, tensing. It's clear, though, that he's looking for an out so he can continue his assault. The blonde woman notices it immediately, however, and wastes no time in telling him otherwise.

"You are a minor. Your rank is inferior to ours," she says icily. "Your only choice is to give the boy up, or I will go to Ra's and inform him of your misbehavior. And anyway," she says, looking around the room with her nose scrunched up in distaste, "I'm sure the kid doesn't want to sleep in this room with the other children. It's cramped and disgusting."

Zach says nothing, instead lowering his eyes as his nose finally stops bleeding. He glances at the teenager whose nose is the opposite - still broken and bleeding profusely.

"I go," he whispers to Unraveler. "I go with them. They do no hurting to you."

Unraveler, beneath the mask, scowls. "No," he replies, steadfast.

Zach frowns and falls silent.

"Yes," the teenager says in response, his voice nasally. "He's coming with us." He swings his daggers in the air, the blades glinting in the less-than-satisfactory lights.

Unraveler gets into a fighting position, though he glances wearily at the gun aimed at his forehead. The man on the ground finally stands up, rubbing his back. He bares his teeth in anger.

"Stupid brat," he mutters, barely withheld fury buried in his tone.

"I'm giving you three seconds to surrender before I start shooting," the woman warns. "One... two..."

A hand grabs her wrist. She immediately stops talking, surprise forming on her facial features. She opens her mouth to speak, or maybe let out a gasp of shock, but instead knuckles meet her lips in a swift and hard punch. Her gun clatters to the ground as she falls on her backside, and her lip's busted, a drop of blood falling from the cut.

The teenager with the dual blades rushes forward, but Nightwing ducks under his swing and grabs him by the front of his shirt. He brings his knee up speedily, hitting him in a place that probably breaks some sort of "man code". The teenager yowls in pain as he comically falls to the ground.

The man from before just stands and stares at him, and Nightwing glares right back. "Leave," he orders.

Like Unraveler, Nightwing is technically under Ra's' rule. He has no reason to do what he just did. In fact, if the three wants to, they can probably get Nightwing in a lot more trouble than what's worth of the petty argument.

But _no one_ questions Nightwing. Not unless you want consequences.

The man swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. The blonde woman picks herself up, grabbing the teen by his arm. She doesn't hesitate to half bow in a hurried and slightly-uncaring show of respect. Turning right around, she drags the teen with her out the door. The man follows shortly afterward, but he calls back before he leaves the abandoned kids' chambers.

"I'll meet you at the arena at five tomorrow."

Unraveler scowls. "And I'll crush you before the clock hits five-thirty," he calls.

Nightwing lets a moment of silence fall over the two before he glances at Unraveler. "Did you seriously just accept a fight from him?" he asks tonelessly.

Unraveler—or, as Nightwing likes to call him when they are alone, Jay—shrugs. "What did you expect from me?"

Nightwing is about to respond when Zach speaks up.

"Prieten?" he asks, his eyes wide.

Nightwing clenches his jaw before sighing. He runs his hand through his hair, pushing the stray locks of hair from his forehead. "Yeah, that's me." The four other children immediately make sounds of disbelief, especially one of the older girls.

Nightwing doesn't say anything, even as Zach rushes forward and hugs him. He's always liked saving children that can't protect themselves—but this time, there is no satisfaction or victory. He has a feeling that what he did is going to come back to bite him, and bite him hard. His words come back to him, and he internally winces—he sounded a lot like his old mentor. While that would usually make him stand straight in pride, he finds himself turning farther and farther from the image of the Batman in distaste.

The cold harshness just isn't him.

For a split, selfish second, he doesn't want to be Prieten, the "hero that protected the weak". He just wants to be Nightwing, the quiet kid who hides in the shadows and wanders the hallways without reason, picking apart his stray thoughts.

"Thank you so much," Zach whispers into his stomach, his tears soaking his suit. "You saved me."

Nightwing places a hand on his tiny back, his stomach dropping to his feet. Unraveler raises his eyebrows at him, clearly feeling the tenseness radiating off of the older boy.

"Yeah," Nightwing says quietly, glancing away from the intense look of his friend.

/breakline initiate\

"Project Revive is complete, sir."

"Good... Take aside a smaller unit to train him. In the meantime, Project Unify will be our top priority."

There's a moment of silence as the owner takes in a deep breath.

"Hunt them down."

* * *

 **And already we have a lot going on. Yay.**

 **I just wanted to say this before I get super into this story, but this is going to be a _doozy_. The plot line is super long and complex even though I've tried to cut it down. This should be around fifty chapters, cut into two parts. The first part lasts around twenty or so chapters, and it's mostly the leading up to the second part, which is when a bunch of crap happens.**

 **For the record, I know this may not be as good as the first book. If you're thinking about this critically, I definitely have way too much plot, and while I would like for the pace to go super quickly, that's simply not possible. So I'm sorry if I bore you—I tried to make extra sure that there's always something happening, unlike the original _Codes and Barriers_ where nothing actually happened until chapter fifteen. If you're just here for the ride and aren't here to be super picky and critical, then you should be fine... but it may take a while.**

 **Guys, please be patient with me on this. It's... gonna be super difficult for me. And I'm trying to perfect this because this is the last book in this series... (Probably.)**

 **And because I'm using every trope in freaking existence. You name it, I probably have it.**

 **I'm going to do my very best for this trip to be a fun, exciting experience. It may take a while to push out regular updates, however (in the last book, I published once every week on a Saturday.) School is usually everyone's excuse, but I'm serious when I say that I will probably have most of my time taken up. I don't want to whine, but my classes are severely hard, and adjusting to my usual workload is going to be a rough experience.**

 **But enough about that. Once again, I'm glad that you wonderful readers are here! I hope you don't mind the emotional damage I'm about to dump on you, because we're going to jump right into this pool of acid!**


	2. Chapter 2

"What you did was beyond stupid."

Unraveler—or, as they are now in his private quarters, Jay—huffs. "What was I supposed to do? Just let them take the kid?" He's obviously angry at Nightwing's remark.

"You intervening could have easily made it ten times worse. In fact, it had. Had it not been for the fact that your sense of violence is recognizable, I would have never stepped in. I would have been clueless of what was happening, and you—" He jabs his finger in his chest, "—could have easily gotten killed, alongside Zach and the other innocent children that were all but bystanders in your conflict."

Jay's eyes darkens. "I wasn't going to let him _die_ ," he hisses.

"Well there's not much you can do if you're already dead, now can you?" Nightwing keeps his anger cold, pushing away the red that used to invade his vision often before he joined the League of Shadows. He knows how much of an inconvenience anger can be, and he needs to be level-headed when dealing with Jay. Sure, he's frustrated, and he isn't scared to reveal that frustration, but anger isn't something he wants as an example for the younger male. It's that same problem that gets him into most of these kind of situations.

Jay spins on his heel and starts to pace his room. "You weren't coming, I had no choice—"

"I told you that you could contact me if the situation required it," he responds coolly.

"And what for?" he snaps. "If anyone figured out that I called for your help, who knows what kind of trouble I would have gotten into, let alone _you_."

"And I also told you that I was willing to pay the consequences." Nightwing slowly takes in a deep breath, making sure he keeps calm—teaching Jay that it was okay to ask for help was his number one priority, above anything else.

Well, mostly anything else.

"I had the situation under control," he says angrily. "Calling you in would have just dragged you into the mix for a petty fight, and then you wouldn't be able to help me when you really needed to."

Nightwing feels a flicker of hurt go through him. "And what makes you think that simple consequences and restraints would keep me from helping you again?"

Jay's head snaps up at him. "If they figured out that you had any sort of connection with me, they would do anything in their power to stop us from making contact."

"They can do a lot of things, but they can only do so much." Nightwing crosses his arms. "They can't separate us for forever."

"And if one of us is dead?" Jay shoots back.

"They can't kill either of us," Nightwing replies just as quickly. "We're both too valuable to the League of Shadows."

"No," Jay corrects, "you're too valuable. They could easily kill me off anytime they wanted to. You're one of the strongest people they have, and even if you aren't the strongest, you've been trained for more. The only reason that Ra's keeps me around is because I'm chained to that stupid peace agreement."

"And it's because of that agreement that Deathstroke, Luthor, and the Shadows aren't in another one-for-all battle," Nightwing says tonelessly.

Jay shakes his head. "I can only be an outlet for so long, 'Wing. Sure, I may be the apprentice to all of them, but the Joint Agreement is temporary—Deathstroke is already getting tired of me since I'm a slow learner, and Luthor doesn't really have any use for me. And like I said, if they find out that you actually give a crap about me, they'll hurt you, too."

"They can't kill you," Nightwing says instead.

"Oh yeah?" Jay shoots back, his gaze hard. "And what happens when the agreement falls, eh? Then the League of Shadows has me, and with the knowledge of the two of us, you can't keep me safe."

Nightwing's eyes narrow. "They can't kill you," he simply repeats. "I won't let them."

"So you're telling me that if it was either my life or the lives of three innocent kids, you would save me instead?"

The question catches him off guard. He purses his lips and falls silent.

"That's what I thought," Jay snarls. "I did what I did today because I was there to do it. I'm not going to sit around and let that happen. I couldn't call myself a human being if I didn't, _especially_ if you were involved."

"Jay, you can't just blow up every time something's unfair," Nightwing tries to say, gently but sternly. "And you can't ignore me, either. I'm here to help you, and if you can't accept that, then you're seriously going to get hu—"

Jay cuts him off. "As if you actually care if they lived or died. You just hide in the corner, only bothering to lick their wounds after they stumble and fall despite the fact that you have the power to do so much more."

Immediately, Jay tenses and a thick silence falls over the room. The younger male looks to Nightwing, and the ridgidness in his shoulders drops. His anger fades into remorse.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, averting his gaze as a wave of pain goes through him. "I didn't mean it, really. I was just..."

"Angry." It's Nightwing who finishes his statement, and his tone indicates that he's tired. However, he shuffles closer to the younger male and places a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Jay. It's not your fault."

"Still, that was really rude of me," he says quietly.

Nightwing sighs. "I know that you don't want us to reveal too much about our..." He pauses, "—friendship." The word is almost bitter on his tongue, and flashes of green ivory eyes and star-like freckles and flaming red hair come to mind before he suppresses the memory. Although, a fluttering lightness appears in his chest, making him feel... safer, almost. "However, your safety and well-being mean the most to me. And I will help you in any way possible, but you have to let me." His words are soft. He can't keep up the older, stern tone that he usually uses when scolding and teaching Jay. It's tiring, trying to direct someone so stubborn in the right direction, and he almost wonders how Batman and Alfred managed to do it every day when he was still with them. "It's not wrong to ask for help, Jay. You can always come to me."

Jay looks up with wet eyes, and he's clearly blinking back tears. And then, suddenly, he presses himself against Nightwing's chest and wraps his arms tightly around the taller one's torso. Nightwing tenses for a few moments under the touch—he hasn't been hugged in a very long time—before he returns it. He rests his cheek into the black locks of hair that belong to Jay.

He's not really that much older than the boy in his arms, he realizes. It's a late conclusion that's never really occurred to him until now.

"Please be safe," he requests. Jay doesn't respond.

/breakline initiate\

Nightwing watches as the hands of the clock slowly move closer to the decided time for the clash. Despite the fact that he isn't the one battling, he's still tense. He's sure in his combat abilities. Like Jay had pointed out, he isn't the strongest—not nearly—but his sense of strategy and quick thinking has never failed him. But he isn't nearly as confident in Jay.

Sure, Unraveler is strong. No, he's beyond strong—while his stamina isn't all that great, he can pack a fierce and swift punch. His strikes are bound to cause serious damage, and while they aren't strong enough to break bones all the time, his past opponents often reported to having bruised or fractured ribs.

But that doesn't mean that Nightwing isn't worrying. The thought of his friend going up against three people at one time make his stomach churn uncomfortably, and his ribs creak with the effort of keeping it from bursting. Unraveler is already on his side of the "ring," while only the teenager with the just-healing broken nose is on the other. The man who was demanding the seven-year-old Zach has yet to arrive, while the blonde-haired one is off to the side, still stretching.

Three minutes until the clock strikes five.

The flimsy bleachers that were set up are slowly growing more and more crowded. After all, everyone wants to see if _the_ Unraveler is going to lose.

Nightwing bites his lower lip. He hates crowds, and crowds hate him, so he's sitting in the rafters. It's dark here, but also comfortable, and it's a win-win. If he could sleep, this would probably be the place he would go to often. However, after staying in the Code dimension for so long (or was it the fact that the Source had linked a part of himself with him?) he only crashes every couple months. And even then, he only sleeps for about two to three hours.

If he's to be honest, his dreams are way too weird for his liking.

He tightens his grip on the metal rafter beneath him, letting the metal warm up to his touch. He follows that train of thought, thinking about the power that both him and Unraveler share. The kinds of traits he received were much more supportive based—he could sense violent auras (which was how he managed to track down Jay the minute the conflict the day before started) and, when under intense emotional and physical duress, could erect barriers.

And sure, that is all fine and dandy, but Jay's is definitely more interesting.

There's a reason he's called Unraveler.

With one minute to spare, the man from before enters the so-called "gymnasium," already stretching his shoulders out and double-checking the items in his belt. Nightwing has half the urge to tut in annoyance at the man's late entrance, but he doesn't. Years of remaining absolutely silent of all noises—even harmless ones such as sighs and soft groans—have been drilled into him. Batman had been a little more lenient to such actions, as he was only eight when he first started, and ten (almost eleven) when he had been taken away by the Source.

The League of Shadows are... less understanding. He's lucky he had the extra practice beforehand, or else he might have not survived all those years ago. He winces as he remembers the close calls he had with Ra's' bodyguard. She's ruthless for someone as young as her.

Slowly adjusting himself as he mentally counts down the seconds left until the fight begins, he strains his ears for any kind of noise. Quickly glancing at his surroundings told him that he is still alone, and none of those stupid metal-bug contraptions has found him yet. Those things are pretty much everywhere, and they record everyone's every move.

Which is annoying, and he hopes to any lord that might actually listen to him that no one finds out his hiding spot now. He actually likes it here.

A loud ringing sound echoes from right beside him, and he curses to himself—internally, of course—as all the heads from the crowd shoot up to look at where the noise originates from. He's quick to slink back and onto the ceiling, his black jumpsuit blending in with the shadows as he uses one hand to pull up the hood over his head and the other to hold on to the small indentations for balance. His ears ring in pain, his left throbbing at the shriek of noise it suffered from. The voices beneath him are all muffled, so he can't decipher whether or not he's been found out.

Damn. He completely forgot about the bell.

His heart beats frantically in his chest, threatening to split his skin as it sends trembles beneath the surface of the tissue surrounding his body. He doesn't let it show—that would just be counter productive in his attempt to hide from the eyes looking up at the ceiling—but he can feel the tremors trying to surface. The sudden change does nothing for his nerves, and he bites his tongue to keep a curse from slipping.

Text scrolls across his vision, catching him off guard for a moment. The familiarity of the action soothes him, however.

 **WARNING: LOUD SOUNDS MAY BE IN THE NEAR VICINITY. NOISE-INDUCED HEARING LOSS MAY OCCUR IF YOU REMAIN IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO THESE NOISES. PLEASE EITHER REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THIS LOCATION OR SILENCE THE SOURCE OF THE SOUND.**

He blinks away the text, half-tempted to mutter "Sure, MADDY" but holds his tongue instead in still silence.

Waiting out a few tense seconds, he finally relaxes his muscles and slips back down and onto the rafter he was previously sitting on. He looks into the crowds, all of them looking ahead at the ring and no longer at the source of his noise—and, in consequence, him. He allows himself to take a deep breath, slowly letting it out to reduce the sound.

Thank goodness for the color of his jumpsuit.

Swallowing heavily, he looks down at Unraveler, who stands tensely. Across from him, the teenager who had his nose broken—Chifuniro, MADDY supplies; it was connected to the League of Shadows' information bank, and it was given permission to supply Nightwing with certain members' portfolios—is gripping onto two blades that are sheathed at his belt. Nightwing scans through the translucent record, absorbing all the relevant information before it disappears.

"Kerry Holland, you challenged Unraveler, did you not?" It's the referee; well, _a_ referee. Anyone who wanted to take up the title did—it's easier than having to constantly assign someone when they could just die the next day.

At Kerry's nod, the referee continued, and Nightwing feels a flash of white-hot irritation go through him at the man's lack of tact. Challenging whoever disagrees with you? What kind of stupidity is that? MADDY, who sensed his spike of emotion, pulls up Kerry's file. It both disturbs and pleases Nightwing that it knows what he needs at the moment. At the same time, he listens to the conversation that follows below.

"Any rules you want in place?" the referee drones.

Kerry glances at Unraveler, who looks back at him blankly. "Fight until the death."

A murmur shoots through the audience at the man's words. It's uncommon for such battles to take place—sure, the League of Shadows' members aren't what you call _close_ , but plenty of them respect one another. The "arena" isn't really used to kill others, but to solve disagreements or put the occasional insubordinate in their place.

A flash of emotion Nightwing can't quite make out crosses Unraveler's eyes. His fingers twitch, but other than that, his face remains cold as stone. "Fine," he replies, his response making Nightwing's hands clench the rafters tighter.

He's just a _kid_.

 _So are you_ , a voice in his mind whispers to him, but he ignores it.

The murmuring in the crowd grows louder, and eyes glance at the color of Jay's suit. It's white, and suddenly, the tense atmosphere grows stronger.

Those who aren't what you call "official" members of the League—those who are stuck at the base of operations but aren't assassins by any means, usually children—are given jumpsuits to wear. Orange meant that you're basic, normal. A muted yellow means that you have gone through severe training and know how to commit assassinations. White means important—someone who's gone through more than just training. Someone who's incredibly skilled, and has the potential to become one of Ra's' most important men. Opal Blade was a White, but since he had been killed, Jay is only one of three white members of the League.

And then there's Nightwing's black jumpsuit, which means _don't mess with me_ , and _I'm more important than all of you combined._

The only reason he likes it is because he can blend in with the shadows easily.

The murmuring is immediately silenced as the referee clears his throat. "Alright then. A fight to the death it is." His originally bored tone is now more inclined to interest, and his eyes bore into Kerry.

Chifuniro's hands twitch, and he's clearly anxious to shed blood. Behind him and Kerry, though, the female with the blonde hair clearly thinks the opposite. She's scowling, and her stance is rigid, like she never agreed to actually being here. Kishori Beake is her name.

Nightwing watches as the referee sighs heavily before suddenly yelling out.

"Begin!"

It's sudden. Clearly, he doesn't care for countdowns—which is fine by Nightwing. Life doesn't have countdowns. You simply go. Chifuniro, the teenager, hasn't learned this, and he falters for a moment. It's barely a second, but it's enough for Unraveler to appear before him and slam a fist into his stomach. He's drawing out his two daggers as he stumbles back, but before he has the chance to counterattack, Kerry's there, aiming a palm-heel strike to Unraveler's throat.

He smoothly slides to the side to avoid the attack, striking the man at his unprotected stomach, and then following it with another punch to his back. He's about to hit him again when Chifuniro throws one of his daggers, catching Jay's shoulder as he twists to the side. He winces but doesn't show any sign of pain, eyes flitting over to the teen before he focuses on Kishori, who's suddenly in his face. Her movements are careful and precise, and her legs swing behind his ankles, forcing him to loose his footing and slip. He catches himself before he falls to the ground, but a kick to the stomach from Kerry sends him to the floor.

He rolls with the blow, landing back on his feet in time to duck beneath the swing of a blade, Chifuniro aiming his other dagger right between his eyes. Unraveler grabs his wrist and pulls upward before the tip of the blade can hit his skin, and pushes the teen into Kerry, the two hitting the floor.

Nightwing watches the action, analyzing Unraveler's opponents. Chifuniro clearly has little pain tolerance and isn't fluent in hand-to-hand combat without his weapons, though he's quick and is good with teamwork. Kerry is mediocre at best, a rounded character, if a little sloppy in his reaction time. Kishori is swift and talented, though her attacks aren't very damaging.

As a team, they work well. Most of their weaknesses cancel out. Except...

"Your personalities clash," Nightwing hears Unraveler say. "You disagree on what to do. Chifuniro is too blood thirsty and gets angry easily. Kerry has little patience, and he expects everyone to listen to him. And Kishori believes everyone will live up to her expectations—but the bar is set too high. She's also incredibly intelligent, but she assumes everyone knows what she does without actually telling them." Unraveler stares right through them, his gaze narrowed. "It would be a different story if you actually solved your differences, and put them past you—or even worked on them, but you haven't. It's obvious."

Kerry's clenching his jaw now. "I didn't come here to be lectured," he says, and Chifuniro is right behind him as they team up to attack. Unraveler moves forward to meet them, and he aims a punch to Kerry's gut. The man blocks his attack, striking Jay across the face. Kishori's appeared behind Jay, wrapping her arms underneath his armpits and keeping him pinned to her.

Cheers and boos echo through the room, the sounds deafeningly loud. It's almost inhumane, seeing the sneers and the shrieks of _"Defeat them, you idiot!"_ and _"Kill him, kill him!"_

Jay clenches his jaw and snaps his head back, and the arms over his chest loosen from the impact. Chifuniro is leaping toward him now, blades raised over his head, and he makes a split second decision. Grabbing one of Kishori's arms, he twists to the side and adjusts his feet as he pulls her over his shoulder, throwing her back-first onto the ground. Chifuniro moves back as to not hurt her, and he hesitates. Kerry moves around her hacking body—all the air in her lungs had been forced out of her—and pounces on Unraveler, arms swinging. As the teenager is pulling Kishori up, Kerry aims punch after punch at Unraveler, who either ducks or blocks. Both of their movements are swift, but Kerry fails to break Jay's defensive streak. As Kerry aims another punch to Unraveler's throat, Jay crouches and swiftly strikes his side.

Kerry yelps but doesn't stumble. Instead, he knees Jay in the gut. His hand reaches toward him, and his calloused hands grip his head tightly, keeping him in place as he grabs his arm and twists it upward. It pops, and a sickening crunching sound ensues as he pushes it farther than it should go. Unraveler groans, but he doesn't scream—not even as Kerry drops his arm and hooks his fist to his lower jaw. His knuckles split the corner of his mouth, and he coughs as his skin starts to turn pink.

Kerry lets go of him, and he falls to his knees before sliding across the floor, avoiding the knife that flew his way. A knee hits his face, snapping his head back. It belongs to Kishori, who lets him roll back to his feet.

Even so, though, their attacks are poorly planned. It's clear that Kerry's miffed that Chifuniro almost hit him with one of his daggers, and Kishori hisses at Kerry.

"What's the point of letting him go? We could have easily killed him right then."

Kerry smirks at her. "He doesn't have long left," he replies as he looks back at Jay, who's panting hard. "He's exhausted. For all his big talk, he can't handle three on one fights."

Chifuniro sneers. "Guess he doesn't deserve that white suit, eh?"

Kishori makes a noise at their words. "You're both incompetent, do you even know what he's capable of?"

"Yeah," Chifuniro says. "Crying like a _child_."

Kishori bares her teeth but doesn't say anything else to them directly. Instead, she mutters something under her breath and lunges for him again. Clearly expecting this, he ducks underneath her strikes, swinging around his leg to repay the favor she did to him. As she stumbles back, Unraveler goes on the offensive, completely ignoring Kerry―on purpose, Nightwing assumes—to reach Chifuniro. The teen balks as Unraveler suddenly appears right in front of him again and elbows him across the face (with his good arm), a powerful kick across his side leading him to tumble across the ground. His daggers lay on the floor a little bit away from him as he groans, clearly not ready to get back up.

Kerry grabs him by his bad arm, but a kick to the chest pushes him back and away from Jay. For now, it's just Kishori and Kerry—and the barrage of attacks that are aimed at him slowly drains what little energy he has left. A kick to the shoulder of his injured arm makes him falter and hiss in pain, which Kerry takes advantage of. Grabbing the back of his neck, he slams him into the ground, other hand on his head—though the latter quickly moves to restrain his arms by holding them above his head by his wrists.

Kishori clicks her tongue as if she's annoyed that he's only now listening to him, but she follows his move and holds his feet down. Unraveler's heel catches the side of her jaw before she can effectively hold him down, and she hisses in pain.

"Chifuniro, now!" she yells, and Kerry copies her exclamation.

Jay curses under his breath, and tries to pull his arms free. The sounds of groaning follow his struggles, coming from the teen lying a few meters away from him. His breathing picks up in speed, but it hitches just as quickly when he hears metal scraping the floor. His sudden stillness causes Kerry's grip on his left arm to slacken, giving just enough room for him to get his wrist free.

He has barely enough time to move his hand in front of his face before the sharp dagger cuts through the air.

Blood splatters along his face. To his amusement, it also stains Kerry's shirt, and several drops hit his chin. Kishori is left untouched, though shock flickers through her usually cold and emotionless eyes.

It's Jason who makes the first movement, his vocal cords thrumming as he groans in pain, deep and guttural and in agony. The blade sliced through the layers of skin of his wrist, cutting through bone and veins and—

There's a squelching sound as Chifuniro twists the blade, and the sound of Jay's hand hitting the floor echoes through the room. Some of the newer assassins, those who have only done clean kills involving poisons and not a lot of blood, gasp. Seniors grin and cheer.

Chifuniro and Kerry are smiling. It's Kishori who's pale.

Her hands are shaking.

She's cursing under her breath.

Kerry grabs Jay by the neck, lifting his face off the ground. His eyes are hooded, and his expression is blank. "Eh, how long do you think you can put up a fight before you die of blood loss, hm?"

Kishori's staring at the blade, which is covered in blood, and she looks down to Jay's severed hand.

His wrist isn't bleeding.

Her eyes grow wider.

The senior assassins are cheering louder now. Except, they weren't cheering for the trio.

"Oi, get 'em, Unraveler! Show them how you got your name and color!"

Chifuniro is too giddy from being on cloud nine—probably because of the severed limb—to care about the remark, though Kerry visibly twitches. "Hey! What the hell do you think you'r—"

It happens too suddenly. Nightwing barely catches the movement with his eyes, and he's been trained in that specific art for far longer than most. The hand, which shouldn't be moving, twitches, and suddenly it's grabbing Kerry by the back of his collar and throwing him off of his back. The pads of his fingers stay on on the older man's neck, and then the man's gasping and crying out as the skin beneath Unraveler's touch crumbles and unravels, layer of skin after layer of skin. Kishori's frantic movements to pull the hand off does nothing until she stabs a knife through the palm of the hand, and she has to peel herself off of Unraveler's legs to do so. The hand disappears shortly after, and then it's right back where it used to be before Cifuniro cut it off, the only sign of its removal being a thin, white scar that circles jaggedly around his wrist.

Kerry's wragged breathing is the only sound for a millisecond, but then Unraveler's grabbing Chifuniro by his forearm and slamming his head into the ground, hard enough for the teenager to scream in pain. There's no blood, and he isn't unconscious, but the concussion that he probably has keeps him glued to the floor. Unraveler's movements are swift and sharp, like a knife, and not even a second after Chifuniro is down, he's snapping his leg in a wide arc, catching the side of Kishori's face as the impact sends her flying. She rolls several times before coming to a stop, and she's definitely unconscious.

Jay steals the blade that Kishori left behind on the floor, grabbing Kerry by his hair and pulling him up. He holds the sharper end to the revealed muscles of his throat, and, for good measure, lightly rests the cool metal against it until the man whimpers and fidgets in discomfort.

However, he's laughing breathlessly a second later.

"Come on now. Rules are rules. Kill me. Slit my throat." His voice is so soft, and the only reason Nightwing can hear it over the chanting of the crowd is because he's been trained to do so. But even so, even if its not loud or brash as it had been before, there's no tremor in his voice, and his tone is poisonous.

The chanting grows louder in the background. It's only being led by a few—some are staring in pale horror (the amateurs) while most are stoic and expressionless of what is happening—but it's loud enough to send ringing in Nightwing's ears. He shudders despite himself as he tries to block the memories of hands grabbing him, taunting him, ordering him to be more obedient, the cheering making him feel disgusting and like he was a piece of property up for sale—

The chanting suddenly stops, petering out into pathetic, tense silence. Nightwing refocuses his gaze on Unraveler, who's expression is of cold apathy. He pushes Kerry back into the ground, the man letting out a pained cry as he was shoved to the ground. With a flick of his wrist, the blade was embedded into the ground right right beside Kerry's head, grazing the side of his ear.

"I don't need to." It's a simple statement, and everyone waits for something more. Something to elaborate upon. They wait for him to say that he's above the trio, that he's giving them mercy.

Except he doesn't.

Nightwing watches as he steps out of the bounds of the arena. The referee's voice is loud, but it wavers.

"Unraveler has passed the boundary... Kerry, Kishori, and Chifuniro... win."

Jay wipes the back of his hand along the split in his lip, ignoring the blood that coats his skin as he massages his injured shoulder. Everyone watches as, in silence, Unraveler walks out of the room. Nightwing waits to move until a loud yell breaks the quiet, and an uproar follows. Some are angry. Some are disappointed. Others are impressed.

Just as the door is about to close from Unraveler's exit, Nightwing slips through. No one had noticed him jumping down from the darkness of the rafters, and no one notices him now. No one ever does. He takes one last moment to glance behind him, however, at the three limp forms on the ground. The door shuts loudly behind him.

The three won.

Except they really didn't.

/breakline initiate\

Jay has an ability that is a mix between regenerative and offensive. Any part of his body can be regenerated as he pleases; he just has to cut the part that's injured off first. While that part of his body is disconnected, he can move it in any way he wants—and, if it makes skin-to-skin contact with another living organism, that living thing will deteriorate. When Unraveler is ready to regenerate his body part, the separated and injured chunk of his body will unravel before reattaching itself to Jay's body where it had been before, though completely healed.

It's gross, and it leaves scars. But, at the very least, he doesn't bleed as much as a normal human being would.

... Well, from what Nightwing can tell, anyway. Don't people usually bleed a lot when they get their limbs cut off? He knew he bled a lot (not that he actually had a limb cut off before—ah, wait, nevermind) but maybe he was the weird one...

Maybe he should start paying attention to other people.

He's still lost in his thoughts when he gets ready to turn a corner to go down a specific hallway. He's been trying to catch up with Jay, but he'd been walking faster than normal. He had checked his dorm room, but he hadn't been there. He has a feeling he knows where Jay might be, but he doesn't know for sure, and he'd rather not wait for Jay to come to him rather than the other way around.

He sees a flash of cloth, and immediately he hardens his expression and narrows his eyes as he bumps into someone else. It wouldn't do him any good if he revealed his... more child-like expressions in front of adults. The female, maybe a little older than him, opens her mouth to apologize when her eyes land on his jumpsuit. Her words stutter to a complete stop almost immediately.

He plans on saying a simple, "It's fine" and walking around her to continue to his destination—he really wants to check up on Jay and make sure he's okay—and he gets about three feet before she calls him out.

"N-Nightwing?"

He pauses and turns to her, letting out a short hum in question. She flinches, her shoulders rigid, but she pushes through. "A-ah..." She clears her throat and looks off to the side, fidgeting with her pastel yellow jumpsuit. "I-I was just sent to get you. Sir Ra's al Ghul would like to sp-speak with you..."

A mix between cold dread and a flash of white-hot anger surges through him. He isn't sure how he should act, so he keeps the calm and stone-faced facade up. "I see," is what he ends up saying, and he tilts his head in her direction. A sign of respect, he supposes, before he turns right back around and heads down the hallway. The sounds of her shuffling away is enough answer for him to know that Ra's isn't trying to test him through her.

Which he's grateful for. He made the mistake once of slipping out to one of his messengers that Ra's was bothersome.

His pace isn't as fast as it really should be, nor is it as fast as when he was trying to get to Unraveler. However, he'd really prefer to take a leisurely pace to Ra's and miss a few minutes of what will most likely be torturous speech or "activity" for him to learn from than make it into Ra's good graces of arriving early. Or maybe a part of him wants to spite him in a way that he can't possibly be faulted for. He isn't really keeping track anymore.

And usually, he'd be able to get away with such petty action. Ra's doesn't mind. If anything, he seems to like the simple gestures of rebelliousness. Just as long as they don't directly cross him, the old man pretty much encourages them. He likes giving people a reason to think that they still have the ability to fight back.

One, because if he took everything away from someone, that person would become an empty shell. They wouldn't have a reason for living, and, as such, would become failures as assassins.

Two, because it was so much more amusing—to him, for that matter—to shatter that hope as it bloomed rather than pulling it out of the ground when its roots still weren't anchored.

So Ra's could wait a little longer. It was his fault for letting it happen in the first place. And anyway, it probably isn't that important, or else his messenger would've said so. Maybe he could stop by one of the guards patrolling and ask if they made any upgrades to their weaponry or armor. It'd be nice to be on top of that. Or maybe he could check with them to see if Deathstroke wanted Unraveler any time soon? Out of Ra's, Luthor, and Deathstroke, Jay hates the latter the most when it comes to spending time with him.

Whatever the case, he's going to find some way to waste time. Ra's can always start without him.

 **NIGHTWING, PLEASE HASTE TO RA'S' COURT. YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY.**

Dammit. Why'd he have to jinx it?

He noticeably picks up his pace, which gains him a glance from a wary assassin walking past him, but he can't really care less. What did Ra's want him so badly for this time? He hopes it isn't another leadership simulation. They always made him sick afterward when he did them forever ago. Granted, they haven't done them in a long time, but Ra's always springs one on him sporadically to make sure he remembers what he learned.

He forces his hands to stop shaking, balling them into fists as he finds his way down a narrow hallway. Guards, still as stone, line the corridor, eyeing him as he walks down toward the doorway at the end. The lone woman at the front of the door stands a head taller than the rest. She glances at him as he approaches, taking in his familiar appearance, before nodding and stepping to the side. She opens the door for him in stiff motions.

Nightwing feels his stomach clench in apprehension as he nods to her in thanks. He walks through the opening, only flinching slightly when the door clangs loudly behind him. His steps are light as he makes his way into the courtroom, the lights bright enough to make his eyes water.

"Ah, Nightwing, you made it."

He tries not to flinch or go tense at the sound of the man's voice, but he can't be quite sure how effective his attempt is. "Yes." He looks up at Ra's, feeling a lot smaller than he should. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees three familiar figures standing in the corner.

"I'm glad," he says, though his tone doesn't line up with his words.

Instead of a snarky response, Nightwing bows his head. He doesn't like the feeling he gets from not keeping his eyes trained in that direction, however. The chill that runs down his neck raises all sorts of red flags. It takes him a few seconds, but he finally recognizes the girl standing behind Ra's in the shadows.

Cassandra Cain. From what Nightwing can remember, Cassandra's around Jason's age. Her long, dark hair falls in waves around her face, blending her further into the shadows. The only reason Nightwing sees her in the first place is because of her bright white jumpsuit. Apparently, she had been trained since birth to become the best fighter possible, though to keep her in check they made sure she didn't learn to read, write, or speak.

Of course. He should've remembered her. She's _his_ bodyguard, after all.

The two lock eyes for a moment, and her dark irises shine with recognition, but they break it soon after. It's not like they really know one another anyway—Nightwing's lucky he even remembers her name.

No one speaks for a long while. The only one who seems to enjoy it is Ra's, who takes enjoyment in watching everyone squirm. Nightwing, knowing that Ra's has important things to get to and that nothing will get done otherwise, is the first to speak.

"You called for me, master Ra's?" The word _master_ is forced off his tongue, and he wished he could drag it back and swallow it whole. He hates that word, he hates it, hates it, hates—

"Ah, of course, how could I have forgotten?" He doesn't smile. He never does (should), but his eyes speak enough for everyone. "I believe the time has come. Your training for the Light has been successful." Nightwing _definitely_ tenses at that. "Should everything go smoothly, we will preparing you for your objective."

Nightwing cuts in, despite every nerve in his body telling him not to. "Sir," he says quietly, and he curses the fact that his voice isn't nearly as strong as it had been before. "I don't—"

"You don't what?" Ra's' voice suddenly grows cold, and Nightwing shudders as his eyes make their way to his feet. The temperature in the room drops several degrees, and he swallows thickly, glancing over to the trio standing off to the side. They're listening eagerly, soaking up the information that comes from Ra's' mouth.

"This conversation is usually confidential," he says, fighting off the nerves that attack his voice. "Not that I am questioning your choice of company, but to trust such information blindly in these three..." He trails off, not finding the right words to continue.

Ra's leans back, his poisonous demeanor fading back into his calm one. "Ah," he says, seemingly amused. "Of course. These three." He tilts his head in their direction. "If I remember correctly, you attacked them just recently, correct?"

Chifuniro is scowling at the memory. Kerry is too busy running his fingers along the tender skin of his neck. Kishori has her arms crossed and is looking at Nightwing like her eyes could shoot lasers.

Nightwing curses mentally. Of course he figured that out. Of course he knows. "Yes." It's better than him stumbling or freaking out over his words, he's sure. That would be worse. And denying it will just bring pain.

"I see," Ra's says. "Care to explain why?"

Oh frick, he's being put in the spotlight and is expected to come up with something reasonable. Is he even good at lying? Crap, he's not that good at lying, is he? Excuses run through his mind one after the other, and he grabs onto several and is speaking before he comprehends that he is.

"Your men had been complaining about people being killed and having to clean the aftermath, sir. And they don't often check up on the basement dorms. Had anyone been killed, the body would have been left to rot for several days. If there was a chance that a disease could have spread, future potential could have been killed."

Ra's hummed as he thought about his answer. Nightwing knew that the excuse was wobbly if put under inspection, but it was his best bet. "If that's the case, then what were you doing down there in the first place?"

Oh. Oh no. Oh shit.

He pauses, and he knows he has to be careful. They can't find out that he favors Jay, nor can they find out that Jay was protecting a kid out of kindness. Maybe... maybe...

Before he can say anything, though, Ra's continues.

"Oh, and wasn't Unraveler there too?"

Nightwing's stomach drops to his feet. He keeps himself from biting his lower lip, and he makes sure that his hands don't twitch.

"I was doing my rounds around the base," he said slowly. "Unraveler had caught on to my pattern, though he was off by a half hour since I try to mix up my pattern. He had gotten caught into an argument with these three assassins, and I happened to be close enough to sense his aura. I have been familiarized with it, and so I decided to come back to check what the commotion was. Unraveler, who was angry and had been hoping to pick a fight with me, ended up fighting them instead. I had come back in time to break it up before the aforementioned effects happened."

He knew he was lying. So did Ra's. It wasn't hard to detect it. All you had to do was check the security footage. He had been all the way on the other side of the base, and he hadn't been doing his rounds. He had already done them earlier that morning, and he usually would've waited until late evening to do another check.

And that brought up another problem. He could only sense violent auras he was incredibly associated or well known with halfway across the base. He could sense all kinds when they were nearby, yes, but _Jay wasn't nearby_.

"I'm sorry to be a source of aggravation, master Ra's, but are these three..." He struggled to find the right words. "More important than meets the eye? I apologize, but I don't think that revealing such vital intelligence to amateurs is a wise decision, unless they are more than such..."

Ra's was humored by him. He knew he was. But he had to know, had to know why Ra's was so open with them, had to know why they were important...

They weren't spies, were they? They couldn't have. They wouldn't have faked such a terrible defeat by Unraveler's hands just a few hours ago, even if they were under Ra's' command. They would've had to throw their prides away, they would've had to tarnish their reputations.

"What amateurs, Nightwing?"

It's enough. His hands tremble, and though it's such a small movement, he feels like they can all see it. That's it, his theory's been proven. He's totally screwed.

His mouth grows dry, like sandpaper, and he hates it. He hates the way that Ra's can play with him. But he has to go along with the ride, he knows he has to, and so he does.

"The three in this room."

Ra's is smiling now. He shouldn't though, he can't, he isn't able to smile, _stop smiling_ —

Kerry is smirking now. "Yeah, _Nightwing_. We aren't amateurs. We're high up there on the assassin rankings. You should know that, since we beat _Unraveler_."

Nightwing blinks. The first thing he thinks is _technically speaking_. The second is _high ranked assassins, not spies? What—_

Ra's gestures something to Cassandra. He has no idea what it means, but Cassandra does, or she seems to.

There's a loud bang, and Nightwing jerks at the sound. Chifuniro, who was grinning, hits the floor. There's another, and then Kerry's next, and then Kishori's trying to run away, but Cassandra's the best shot there is, and then she's falling and there's blood around her head and there's skull fragments and chunks of brain all over the floor and god dammit not again—

Ra's says something, but he doesn't hear it the first time.

"Pardon?" he asks, because he knows he'll regret it later if he doesn't know what he says. He barely recognizes the fact that his face is still expressionless, and his tone gives no emotion away. A self-defense mechanism, he supposes.

Ra's chuckles as he peels his white gloves from his hands. "I said that punishments are due where they belong. Those three needed to be punished and put in their place, and _you_ —" He gestures in his direction, "need to be disciplined for lying to me." His smile grows cat-like.

"I'm only going to ask you this one more time, pri-e-ten." His voice is mocking, so very mocking, and Nightwing feels his entire body shudder as his nickname is thrown out into the air casually.

"What amateurs?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry that this chapter isn't nearly as long as the last one! (It's probably only half the size...) However, I'm, like, super pumped for this. We're already getting into the good stuff... *cackles and rubs hands together***

 **YoU WiLL nEVeR bE sAFe**

* * *

"You're getting punished for that?"

Nightwing sighs as he pokes at Jay's injuries. The younger boy winces but still holds firm. "It's alright, Jay. Don't worry about it."

The tension in Jay's shoulders doesn't fade, his anger obvious in the way he huffs, but he doesn't say anything. The two fall into an awkward silence while Nightwing carefully tends to Jay's wounds. As he works on pushing his shoulder back into its socket with gentle fingers, Jay starts up a conversation.

"Do you have some kind of connection with the League or something?"

Nightwing pauses as he ponders over the question, but he quickly gets back to work. Jay grunts in pain as the aforementioned limb is shoved back into its rightful place, but he doesn't make much more noise than that. "I think I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a connection with the Shadows, Jay."

"Not _that_ ," Jay says. "I'm talking about the Justice League, not the League of Shadows."

Nightwing blinks, suddenly thankful that Jay's back is to him as he tries not to flinch at the words that were spoken so openly. "Why would you think that?"

Jay shrugs with his uninjured shoulder. "I don't know. No one really knows where you're from, 'Wing. _I_ don't know where you're from. I didn't even think you existed. If you hadn't... if you hadn't helped me out that one time, I would've thought you were just another rumor or fairy tale."

Nightwing purses his lips as he remembers Jay, covered in injuries and burns and his own blood. "I still can't believe that Deathstroke would be so relentless," he says darkly. "But I'm afraid that I cannot tell you anything about my history." After a moment of consideration, he continues. "Also, you didn't answer my question."

Jay fidgets a bit before answering. "Well, I mean... back when my friend contacted me, and he asked for my help regarding Red Arrow's kidnapping and the attack on Over Venture... I had asked you to enhance that weapon. You didn't exactly... hesitate, even though we barely knew one another and you knew that I was assisting the League. You just told me not to get caught."

Nightwing falls silent at that. That's right. Another one of his treasured abilities—to incorporate his power into a weapon. Unfortunately, or fortunately in his case (Ra's would never let him leave his control otherwise), he becomes weaker with every enhancement he does. He only regains his power when he extracts it back into his body.

"I mean," Jay adds, "you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. Sure, we're friends and all, but it really isn't any of my business—"

"Someone I really care about was affiliated with the League," he interrupts softly as he starts to weave stitches through a deep cut on his back. "I... owe them quite a bit."

It isn't a lie, per say. Sure, the real reason is because he cares about him and he doesn't want him to die, but he does owe the boy his life.

Jay hums. "Well, I just wanted to ask, 'cause, well... my friend, he wanted me to tell you that you saved one of guys of the League."

Nightwing's curiosity peaks, though he continues without pause. "Oh really?" He internally congratulates himself for keeping his voice steady, though it's an octave higher than normal. "Which one?"

"Kidflash."

The words take half a second to register, but when they do, he swears he gets whiplash from the words alone. His fingers jerk in surprise, and he barely manages to stop himself from tearing the string right out of Jay's skin. He hears Jay hiss in surprise and grumble something, but the pounding in Nightwing's ears make it too hard to make the words out.

It takes him three seconds of deep breathing before he can stop his fingers from shaking too badly and continue his work. Jay doesn't seem to think much of his reaction, brushing it off as an accident. But even so, Nightwing can't keep himself from chewing his lower lip in worry as feelings he long since suppressed threaten to crawl up his throat. He really shouldn't be getting emotional at the mention of his old friend's hero name, and he knows this.

A part of him, hidden in the back of his mind, whispers that he might remember him. He tries to ignore that piece of himself, and he fairs pretty well until he's finally done fixing up Jay. He stands up, rubbing the muscles in his legs to get the feeling back into them after they fell asleep. Jay, bruised and limping, follows him out the door before waving to him goodbye.

And then Jay shuts the door. He's all alone.

The ache in his chest comes back full force. Childish laughter, thin gangling arms wrapping him up in a hug, dark, cold nights full of jokes and banter...

It shouldn't be this easy to completely unravel his bottled-up emotions. It _shouldn't_. So why...

Why does it hurt so much?

And then, another thought strikes him in the chest, and his eyes burn and shame crawls up and down his cheeks. His stomach drops down to his feet.

 _What would he think of him now?_

For a while, he just stands, frozen, outside of Jay's door. By the time he finally slinks into the shadows, he knows that Ra's is going to be miffed at his tardiness. But he doesn't care that he's making himself even later in order to take a detour. He enters his barely-lived-in dorm room, immediately heading to the bathroom to wash his face, to let the icy chill ground him.

He's not there anymore. He's not with Batman, he's not swinging through Gotham or running through the halls of the manor or tasting Alfred's cookies. He's not playing pranks on _him_ , who was always a good sport about it even though he always got totally embarrassed.

He scrubs his face with the palms of his hands, soaking them in steaming hot water. He isn't sure when he turned it from cold to hot, but the scalding water helps him focus. His hands are still trembling, though, and he has to try multiple times to turn the faucet off. He takes in several shaky breaths to calm himself. He isn't used to having these kinds of cracks. Usually he's so composed, so why is he suddenly—

Oh.

It makes sense, way too much sense, but it doesn't make it any easier. He's going to crash soon, and he knows it. He hates sleeping, though. It never rejuvenates him like it used to. His body doesn't even need it. It's a waste of time, and the several hours' worth of dreams are all but useless.

He always gets frazzled emotionally-wise a little bit before and after. Another reason why he dislikes it. His last dream was just a constant stream of _make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it, make the end worth it_ over and over again until all the words blurred together and all the small lights around him went out and the darkness overtook him.

He takes in another shuddering breath before he finally stops the shaking in his arms. He's late now, by almost half an hour, and he knows that he's going to be punished even more for that. But that's okay, because now he's prepared to deal with it. And he's not an emotional mess. And he doesn't look like he's about to cry anymore.

Oh, who the hell is he even trying to convince.

He blinks away another message from MADDY that practically screams "Move now, or else Ra's might kill you" and straightens. He still looks like a mess, but he doesn't look as bad as before. He sighs before leaving the bathroom, making sure not to drag his feet as he all but sprints in the direction of the meeting point.

He's forty-five minutes late when he finally arrives.

/breakline initiate\

At least the attendant's nice, he muses later. Unfortunately, he isn't sure how much longer he's going to stay as Ra's' attendant. Rumors were flying around that when Ra's ordered Agent Walsh to be killed for her failure at some bombing incident, he argued with Ra's nonstop until he threatened to kill him too.

His bravery was a pleasant sight to Nightwing, but to Ra's it looked nothing more than insubordination. And while the attendant was smart and had been by Ra's' side for years, it didn't change the fact that disrespecting him was misbehavior, which was never left unpunished here.

He's back in his bathroom, sitting in the tub filled halfway with lukewarm water. He had already refilled it with hot water when it cooled twice now, and he's pretty sure his hands look more like his great-grandmother's do than a fourteen-year-old.

... He _is_ fourteen, right?

His brows furrow, and he bites his lower lip as he wracks his brain for the date. Of course, he doesn't have to think hard for long. MADDY's voice rings through his eardrums as she says, "It is November the twenty-third." He flinches when the sound reaches him. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to it.

There's a small microphone in his eardrum that, in very low vibrations, emits MADDY's robotic voice directly to him. Since it's so quiet, no one else can hear it. The only downside is that people thinks he's crazy when he talks back to seemingly nothing. However...

"Could you please stop stalking my train of thoughts?"

He doesn't like it when MADDY knows exactly what he's thinking twenty-four seven. It's unnerving, and he's terrified that one day Ra's will come up to him and say that MADDY's been sending all his thoughts directly to him. He didn't know what he'd do if he was presented with his traitorous feelings—what, was he just supposed to act like MADDY was making all his bitter opinions up?

"I am not allowed to send any of your mind's data to Master Ra's."

"MADDY, what the hell."

"I'm sorry, but I am afraid I cannot quite compute. Do you mean to ask what the term "Hell" is, or are you vocalizing a human "catchphrase?" My systems report you saying "What the hell," not "What is hell," but I am afraid that you could have misspoken, and I wish to be of service to you."

"MADDY."

"Yes?"

"Stop being creepy. I swear."

"I apologize. I will try to be less "creepy" from now on."

Nightwing sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before leaning his back onto the cool tile of the side of the tub. He trailed back to his previous thoughts. He had almost a week before he turned fifteen, though W— _he_ already turned seventeen.

"Who is this boy that plagues your thoughts?"

He jumps again in surprise before sighing. "MADDY, please drop it."

"Drop what? I cannot physically hold anything."

His mouth quirks into a smile at MADDY's words. They remind him of his "frenemy," and then he's wondering if the Source actually managed to complete his objective. Or if he managed to tell Batman his message.

He hoped so. He really did love Batman, and he missed him from the bottom of his heart.

"It's a human phrase. It means to stop talking about a certain subject."

"I see. I will keep this in mind for later, then."

Nightwing nods even though MADDY probably wouldn't be able to tell he was. But then something MADDY says strikes him. He licks his lips. "What did you mean when you said that you weren't allowed to send my data to Ra's?"

"I am not allowed to do so. They prohibited it in my programming."

Nightwing raised an eyebrow. "Why? It would be much more beneficial for you to do so."

MADDY didn't pause in its response. "I am not sure of the specifics, but they put many restrictions on me to make sure I do not step out of line. While it is true that your information would be of assistance, I am not allowed to evolve into anything more than my programming." As it spoke, it brought up lines of code into his vision, comments appearing in the corner about what each was for.

"That's a lot of restrictions..." he murmured, eyes running from each line as it passed his vision. "Why don't they take the risk and let you do a few extra things? I don't see why they would keep you from doing some of these little things." Part of him was slapping him upside the head, since his suggestions would do nothing but cause him more trouble, but another side of him was wondering why they didn't experiment with it more. They already put so much time and effort into making MADDY, so why did they limit it so much?

"They experimented with another artificial intelligence before I was created. They gave it little to no limitations, other than it was to serve the League of Shadows above all else."

Nightwing swallowed. "And?"

"It went berserk, and it eventually escaped. No one knows where it is now."

He felt sick to his stomach. "I see." He was about to push away all the information piling in front of him when a certain file caught his eye. "Hey, MADDY? What's the **PSYCHOLOGICAL/PERSONALITY SYSTEM** for..?"

MADDY fell silent for a moment. "I apologize, but a scan of my system shows that no such thing exists. Also, as an artificial intelligence unit, I am not capable of being sentient. You must be mistaken."

So it's hidden from MADDY.

Well, crap.

Nightwing willed the file to open, and while it took a few tries, he did succeed. He was surprised to find that it was bare, almost empty, except for a few lines of code.

One caught his attention, though. It seemed to be recently added, and through the mess he found the key words he was looking for.

His stomach dropped.

 **DROP IT: TO STOP TALKING ABOUT A CERTAIN SUBJECT.**

Oh that's _definitely_ not asterous.

/breakline initiate\

There's hot sand between his toes, and in between his fingers, and behind his ears. He doesn't mind, though. It's hot, enough to make him sweat buckets, but now the sun's setting and it's cooling down. There's a breeze, too, and it's running through his hair and sending chills up his bare arms.

He ends up walking forward, into the inky darkness of the sea. It reminds him of the Source, of when he exited the Code Dimension and fell into the sea. ̸͙̤̠̀̈́̒̾İ̴̧͍̞ **t̸̮͖̱̥͛ ̷̝̰͎̈̏̈̍ͅr̷͔̽e̸̤͈̕m̴̻̦̂͗͜ȉ̸̘̏n̷̻͚͖̓̽̇d̶͙̝̳̣̅̋s̷̘̯̅ ̸̧̥̘͑̈́͌̈́͜h̵̻̀̈́͘ỉ̴̛̮̫͔̜̏́m̴̻͛̈ ̵̻̔̍̓͝ŏ̴͎͕̭̎͝f̵̪̞̗̊̇́͠ ̵̫͐̔̋w̴̝̳͖̄͂̀̃ḩ̵̰͆͋e̶̯͕̻͖̋̎n̵͎̋ ̴̨͎̎̈́͝ͅh̸̗͑̓̇e̵̛̬̱̎͛̀ ̶͚̻̖̪͑̚ŵ̵͚̦̯̞̃a̵̻̥͐̿̄̕s̴̺̤̺̀̋̂̚ ̸͓͊͗̕̕t̷̥̪͂h̵̛̳́̈́ŗ̶͔͙̀õ̶̯͆̃͠w̶̡̢̽̒͝ǹ̷̺̤͊͘ ̶̜̈́͠b̶͍̖̿a̴̤͚͗̄͌c̵̬̝̑̉͠ḳ̸̄̃̊̍ ̷̡̭͇͘͘i̵̧͕̫̍n̷̛͚̣̳͛͝t̵͚͎͙͉́̉̿͒ö̷̮̣́̈́̍͌ ̶̼̏̌̄i̷͉̠̚t̶̘͑ ̷͚̱͎̇̈̈a̵̧̭̝̰̽ ̴͉̪̫̼͒s̷̬͍̖̫̎e̵͚̔̏͆c̴̬̐̄͆o̵͇̒͂͜͝n̵̯̰͗̿͛͝d̷͙͕͂͂ ̸͕̳̍͘t̶͉͎̄͜ḯ̵̪̤͚͚͠m̶̡̖̖̋̈͗ẽ̵͓̬̳ ̵̜̜͆̀b̴͕̘̆ỹ̶̞̱͕͋̚—̵̟̊͛̃͛**

The water's up to his waist now, and the current's gentle against his suit. He walks further in, until it's up to his neck, and he takes a few deep breaths before going under. He opens his eyes as he swims deeper, deeper, deeper, and then there's this whispering in his ear.

I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, why grayson, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to redeem myself, I want to—

He finds what he's looking for, and he curls up against the cold, slick surface of a headstone. He knows he's running out of oxygen, but he doesn't care. He curls up against it, running the tip of his finger against the curve of the indentations of letters. A part of him wants to cry, where it'll all be lost in the sea and never to be found again, but another part of him has no tears left. He hugs the headstone one more time before kicking back up to the surface. He ends up taking deep, desperate breaths as his head comes up, coughing out the saltwater that burns his throat and rubbing shaking hands against his aching eyes.

There's a hands against his wrist then, and he doesn't flinch this time. He doesn't flinch anymore. They're pulling him back to shore, and then they hold him to their chest when they do. They're rubbing his back, running their fingers through his hair, and eventually he stops shaking.

"You want to sleep with me tonight?" they ask, and he nods shakily into their chest. He sleeps more often now than he used to.

"Okay," they say, and they gently lead him away from the beach.

The sand is cool between his toes.

/breakline initiate\

He wakes up to find that he fell asleep in the bathtub. He has a crick in his neck, and his skin is clammy when he snaps out of his sleep-filled haze. Sighing, he pulls himself with shaky arms up and out of the tub, his knees locking up from such an awkward position and his muscles straining with disuse. His right leg fell asleep, and it tingles almost painfully when the blood starts to flow back through the limb.

He drains the tub before drying himself off with cold, stiff hands. He manages to find clean clothes from his small dresser and quickly dresses himself. But he's still cold, and his shoulders continue to shake. He's not sure if it's from the burns that he suffered from today or the lack of temperature his body refuses to hold, but he curls up in his unused bed, wrapping all the blankets he can find around himself. He closes his eyes, and though he can't sleep anymore, it helps.

He tries not to think about the warm, gangling arms that encircled him and held him close.

 _It's just a dream,_ he tells himself.

It's just a dream.


End file.
